


For the Love of Dragons

by the_golden_snitches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_golden_snitches/pseuds/the_golden_snitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Weasley has a dilemma. What do you do when you're torn between the traditional easy path everyone expects you to take, and the new road your heart wants you to follow?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>The Wimbourne Wasps Collaboration for the Fourth Match at The Golden Snitches</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plight of the Seeker

**Author's Note:**

> This story is submission to the Golden Snitches' Quidditch World Cup. It was written by the Wimbourne Wasps.
> 
> Participants:  
> Author - Violet Gryffindor  
> Editor - PenguinsWillReignSupreme  
> Beta - WolvesOfTheNewMoon  
> Chapter Title - KaraBlack  
> Story Summary - PenguinsWillReignSupreme

Professor McGonagall stood by the window as Charlie entered, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked as stiff as a rake and Charlie knew without even seeing her face that she was absolutely incensed. Snape had been worse than usual this morning, smirking and gloating because he knew that Slytherin would win the next match. The Slytherin team was more like a regiment in the army, their offensive and defensive tactics equally strong. In five minutes, they’d be able to break the Gryffindor team.

And there was little, if anything, that Charlie Weasley could do about it.

He could roar instructions across the pitch and endlessly drill his team during training, but they still couldn’t get it right. They were all perfectly solid players individually, but together, it was more than a bit of a mess. They weren’t a team, and that was their problem.

A sigh escaped him and McGonagall turned, her spectacles balanced on the tip of her nose and her jaw set in such a firm line that it could have been set in stone.

“Ah, Mr. Weasley. Please sit down.” She nodded at the chair across her desk.

Charlie sat, remaining silent. He already knew what she was going to say.

She did not sit.

“The Quidditch match is next week, as you know.”

“Yes, Professor.” Charlie kept his voice steady. He’d prefer to face an irate dragon than a displeased McGonagall.

“Then you also know that most of the school, including many of your housemates, are betting against Gryffindor.” She stared at him as though ready to employ Occulmency on his belaboured brain.

Charlie swallowed. So this was what the furtive stares in the Common Room had signified. Even the Gryffindor loyalty couldn’t withstand the pressures of a poor Quidditch side. Yes, poor. He could truthfully use that word, even about his own team.

McGonagall sat so suddenly that Charlie started, his hands gripping the arm of his chair.

“What I worry about most, Mr. Weasley, are your own ambitions,” she said, folding her hands on the desk. “You are a talented Seeker, one of the best I have seen in my days at Hogwarts.”

Charlie’s ears turned bright red at the compliment, but she continued to speak.

“But the tension amongst the team in general is unacceptable. Your brothers are almost uncontrollable, attacking the other team with as many Bludgers as they can get their bats on–”

“But, Professor–”

“–and while the three Chasers do a respectable job, they are not aggressive enough, particularly against the other teams.” She adjusted her spectacles, leaning further over the desk. “They may be female, but they do not need to be delicate on the pitch, playing at politeness while the opposition steal the Quaffle right from under their noses–”

“Professor, you were on Gryffindor team once, weren’t you?” Charlie finally managed to interrupt the criticisms he was all too well-aware of. “I mean... you’re female too...”

He was sounding pathetic to his own ears. McGonagall always had this effect on him, worse than his own mother.

“And I did not play the game any differently from the male players, of which there were far more back then.” She narrowed her eyes. “You need to help them gain confidence, Mr. Weasley, even if that means placing them in greater physical danger.”

Charlie did not like this. It was true, to a degree, but he did not want any of the three Chasers to become injured. They were the only ones he had.

A little voice in his head tried to add that he especially wanted to protect Tara, but he shut that voice up in a hurry. It was best not to think in that direction. It would hurt the team too much to admit that maybe–

“Then there is Wood,” McGonagall was saying, hands clenching so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Now there, I think, is your greatest problem, Weasley.”

Charlie frowned. “Wood? He’s a good Keeper, if he–”

“– wasn’t shouting out orders to the other players at each crucial moment?” She was smiling now, her eyebrow half-raised. “He is too easily distracted, Weasley.”

Letting out a breath, Charlie leaned forward. “He knows what he’s talking about, Professor. He understands Quidditch theory like I’ve never seen before. It’s like he lives and breathes the stuff.”

“As any good player should.”

More than a little guilt seeped into Charlie’s heart. Maybe once he had felt that way, everything in his life revolving around Quidditch, but now, after so long without a solid win and so many other things coming up, he wasn’t so sure.

“Of course,” he lied, faking a smile. She’d see right through it, of course, but he had to try for the sake of the team. As captain, he had to be enthusiastic; his heart had to be in it.

By some chance of fate, she had looked away as he’d replied, her eyes drifting to the window where she had a perfect view of the pitch. The smile had vanished, the tension returning to her face.

“You need to improve your cooperation with Wood, Weasley, and demonstrate that you are the captain of Gryffindor team, not him.” She paused, a deep furrow appearing between her eyes. “I am almost tempted to say that you are just as polite as your Chasers, allowing Wood to counsel the team when that job should fall on your shoulders.”

Charlie winced, his face turning the same colour as his hair.

"There is no need to be embarrassed by the truth, Weasley. Now that you are informed of it, perhaps you will be able to stake out a win for Gryffindor. If Professor Snape gloats in the staff room once more ...." Her beady eyes were looking through, not at, Charlie. "Let us just say that it will not be pleasant for Professor Snape."

She must have noticed his dejection, his slumped shoulders and the way he refused to meet her eyes. He felt like a failure. Bloody hell, he was a failure! He couldn't even captain his team properly because he was too open to suggestion, too desirous to allow them to voice their opinions. It was necessary that he take a greater leadership role, but he wasn't sure how without alienating the whole team.

"Do not lose heart, Mr. Weasley." Her voice was kinder now. "I would not have chosen you for captain had I not been sure that you were capable."

The comment only made him flush more and he cursed himself for being a sensitive prat. Bill wouldn't have been like this, he would have sat up straight and thanked her for the compliment, knowing full well that he deserved every word of it. No, Bill wouldn't have even needed this chat. The team would have already won the blasted Cup by now.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Mr. Weasley?"

There was, now to put it into words. It was something he'd been thinking about for a little while now, a little bug that wormed its way into his head, but how to explain it? He needed more time to think it through. He didn't want to disappoint anyone, not yet.

"No, Professor. I think I know what direction to go in next." Not really, but one did have to say these things sometimes.

She gave a curt nod and he rose, trying a smile before exiting her office.

He didn't take a breath until he got outside, and then gasped for air. Leaning against the wall a little way down the corridor, he wondered what in Merlin's name he was going to do now. The twins would be easy enough to handle. They were vicious Beaters, which was a good thing, but they gave away more penalties between them than whole teams had gotten all year. A little more control there was all that was needed.

The Chasers could be dealt with as well, though it might take them longer to adjust. They were fast and agile on their brooms, but McGonagall was right - they were too nice. It was a horrible word, but it was true. They would veer out of the way instead of bash themselves against another player, which often prevented them from completing a play. It was in part self-preservation, and he didn't blame them for that, but injuries were still rare.

Speaking of injuries, the Bludger to the head that Wood had taken seemed to have addled his brains. Losing the first match had hurt the team, setting them back by huge amounts, and it seemed impossible that they could gain back that dreadful 530-20 loss. Wood was still in denial that he could have avoided the Bludger. Not that he could remember any of the game. They'd been lucky to get him to remember his own name.

"Wotcher, Char. You alright?"

He blinked, turning to look at the pink-haired witch who was standing nearby. She was chewing bubble gum again. "Oh, hey Tonks."

"Definitely down in the dumps today. Just talked to McGonagall, didn't you." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Perk up, Char. She's cruel to the best of us." In response to his sharp look, she added, "Yes, another detention. I'm no match for the twins, but still, you know." She grinned.

Charlie shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask what it was this time."

Tonks blew a large bubble, and then popped it loudly. "Sprout's so mad that she won't even handle me herself. So it's best that you don't ask. What about you, then?"

"It was about Quidditch, and she wasn't cruel, just way too kind. Actually complimented me a few times." He frowned, wondering if she had just been saying those things to give him more confidence.

"Now that's a scary thought, McGonagall complimenting somebody." Tonks snorted, then almost choked on her gum. Though she was coughing, she still managed to speak. "But she's right about you being good, you know." Another cough. "Way better than that damned Slytherin git--"

Charlie put his hand over her mouth. "And what if Snape hears you? Like you need another detention, not if you want to get into the Auror Academy."

She pulled away, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. "Course not. I was talking about their Seeker, not the horrid Potions master."

Rolling his eyes, Charlie was clueless what to do with Tonks. Hopeless wasn't a strong enough word to describe her.

"Shouldn't you be getting on to see McGonagall?" he asked, wanting to get away. He had to plan, to look over the pitch and think about all the different ways he could get his team to win. Or at least lose with a smaller margin.

She sighed. "I suppose so. If I don't come out alive, give my love to Mum and Dad." Blowing one more bubble, she trounced off. Charlie heard her knocking on McGonagall's door, but he continued on before he could hear anything else.

It was very strange to have a friend like her, but she was great fun in Care of Magical Creatures, by far his favourite class. Their group of three - including Tara Cartwright - could handle Fire Crabs far better than anyone else in their year. It was just unfortunate that Tonks was in Hufflepuff; she had the makings for a Gryffindor. After all, she wanted to become an Auror.

At least she was sure of what she wanted to be after school ended. Charlie was still hanging in purgatory. This year in Quidditch was only making it worse.

He didn't want to hurry back to Gryffindor Tower, but there wasn't anything else to do. Maybe he could do a bit of Charms homework, or even start that Transfiguration essay for McGonagall. He felt like he owed her something for all those bloody compliments.

"Password."

The Fat Lady sounded just as glum as he felt.

"Queerditch."

The portrait door swung open and Charlie entered, glancing around without much interest for those who were there.

Wood hurried forward, parchment in hand. Charlie knew it would be covered in doodles of a pitch and players, flying about in a new and supposedly glorious formation.

"Not now, Wood."

He brushed past the young Keeper, whose eagerness didn't seem a bit crushed.

"How did that talk with McGonagall go?"

It was the last thing that Charlie wanted to discuss with Wood. He kept his face rock-solid, his eyes meeting Wood's with equal solidity. 

"Fine, I just have some homework to catch up on. We'll talk later, okay?"

Wood stared after Charlie, who ran up the dormitory stairs with surprising speed. He slammed into his dormitory. It was empty, which should have been the perfect place to stay, but there was someone he wanted to see, someone who wasn't a resident of his dormitory.

Grabbing the first textbook and notes he found, he trudged back down the stairs, ducking behind a group of sixth year girls on his way to a desk by the window. He kept his back to the room, but would be able to see whoever entered the Common Room in the window glass.

His Charms homework was nearly done before the portrait door opened. Tara entered, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face and looking around the room. Wood was the first to approach her, and though Charlie couldn't quite hear what they were saying, he did see Wood point in his general direction. Charlie couldn't look away in time. Tara's eyes met his in the glass and a small crease appeared on her brow.

Charlie looked down at his textbook, flipping a couple pages to give the appearance that he was searching for something.

"Hey Charlie."

She was standing beside him.

"Oh, hey Tara."

She stepped closer, glancing over his shoulder.

"That homework's not due for a week."

Charlie took a deep breath. She'd be comparing him to Percy next.

"I know. Won't have time with the match, remember?"

"Yeah, I guess, which is why you've been drawing dragons all over it, right?"

He blinked, staring down at his parchment. Little Chinese Fireballs and Hungarian Horntails danced around the margins, smoke curling up from their nostrils. They were wonderful creatures.

"They help me think," he said, dipping his quill in the inkwell. 

It should have been the end of the conversation, but she didn't move, just kept looking over his shoulder. Charlie didn't want to chase her away, but neither did he want Wood and the other team members to see him in discussion with Tara. They'd come over, thinking that it was about Quidditch. He wondered if there'd ever be a way to speak to her alone without people jumping to conclusions.

"Want to talk, Charlie?"

She was an expert mind-reader, if not an actual Legilimens.

"I might need to look something up in the library for this," he said, pointing at a random paragraph in his book. "Perhaps I might see you on the way there?"

Her eyebrows were raised, her curiosity piqued. "Sounds good. I'll just hop up to grab a book I need to return."

Once she was gone, Charlie packed up his things and made his way to the portrait door, scrunching his eyebrows so he appeared in deep in thought. Wood looked his way, the parchment spread on his lap, but he made no move to follow Charlie. 

He was halfway there before Tara caught up with him. She wasn't at all out of breath, even though, from the state of her hair, she looked to have run the whole way. 

"So, what's bothering you, Charlie? Did McGonagall go hard on you?"

Charlie shook his head. "The opposite actually, but she was hard on the team, all of you."

This was going to be the worst part: telling her that McGonagall thought her, as a Chaser, weak and polite. She was polite, but not weak. No, never weak.

He got around it by relating to her all the other things McGonagall had said about the other players, particularly Wood. He knew that Tara would agree with him that Wood was a problem; perhaps she'd know of a solution.

They had stopped by a suit of armour when she finally spoke up.

"When she puts it like that, Wood's a nasty problem." She twirled her hair around a finger. "You need to show him up, not in a bad way, just to let him know that you're the captain."

He tapped a finger against his textbook. "But how? He's so... so..."

"Into it?"

Charlie nodded. "More than I am, from the looks of it."

She looked like she couldn't decide to laugh or be worried. Everyone else would ask "but I thought you loved Quidditch, Charlie?" but she wouldn't, maybe because she already knew the answer. 

"That shouldn't make a difference to who's captain and who's just the Keeper." 

She was right, of course. But the mere knowledge of that didn't help Charlie figure out what he was going to do. It was so frustrating. Maybe he just needed to lash out, to let them all know that he wasn't going to tolerate their methods of playing the game. They had to play as a team, or face failure. There was no other option.

"Did she say anything about the Chasers?"

Charlie made a face. "She said the three of you were being too polite."

It was better to be honest with her. She would ferret the truth out of him faster than he could catch a Snitch on a sunny day. 

"Polite? If I recall, it was me who sent Butterby to the Hospital Wing with a right nasty concussion." She'd put her fists on her hips, glaring at him like he, not McGonagall, was the one who'd dared to call her polite.

"Damn and blast," she muttered. 

"I guess you need to send more of them to the Hospital Wing," Charlie said, starting to grin. "Maybe set a record or something."

Tara matched his grin. "Oh definitely. That'd show McGonagall that I'm not a girl at Quidditch." 

After a moment, she sobered, eyes narrowing. "Charlie, we really have to win the next one, don't we?"

He looked away and continued to the library, his throat too constricted to answer. Yes, yes they had to win, but he knew that it would take a miracle. There wasn't anything more impossible than getting his team to win.


	2. Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver held up his hands in mock apology. “No, no Captain. Sounds like a perfect speech if you're trying to piss everyone listening off. I’m sure I could do better if I was given the chance…”
> 
> “Excuse me?” Charlie growled.
> 
> “Look Fred,” George muttered as the argument progressed. “You can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is submission to the Golden Snitches' Quidditch World Cup. It was written by the Wimbourne Wasps.
> 
> Participants:  
> Author - KaraBlack  
> Editor - californialove  
> Beta - padme_alejandra  
> Chapter Title - KaraBlack  
> Story Summary - PenguinsWillReignSupreme

Charlie ground his teeth together in frustration; so far, his week had been crap. He had failed his apparition test and, to top it all off, he had landed atop a busty old woman who apparently just returned from the grocers. At least, that was what it looked like judging from the ruined backside of his robes - they were caked in a yellow, runny mess and cracked eggshells. Skipping past all of the oblivating that had to be done, the meeting with McGonagall yesterday, and now this dreaded Quidditch practice, it didn’t look like much else could go wrong.

But of course, Charlie Weasley never truly got his way.

He walked briskly toward the pitch half an hour before the scheduled practice. It was his duty as captain to be there before everyone else so he could get everything set up. He had to learn to be tougher about efficency. By the start of practice. No more politeness, no more being a pushover and letting his team just fall apart. He had to show them who was in charge. McGonagall was counting on him; the whole Gryffindor house was counting on him. Everyone was.

But with everything pouring down on top of him, the pressure to do well was enormous. The thought of failure, of not living up to everyone’s expectations and the prospect of leaving Hogwarts just on the horizon all seemed to glare down at him with a vengeance. The burden was so enormous that he didn’t think he could feel anymore stress even if he tried. The desperation to get away from it all was distressing. He just needed to be…free. Turning his brisk walk into a jog, he headed toward the broom cupboard. He grabbed his broom and, as soon as the lush green grasses of the Quidditch pitch were in sight, he threw himself onto the broom and into the air.

There were three seconds when his mind, body, and soul were suspended in time and space. It started just after the moment his feet left the ground and in those tense, chaotic seconds, his mind went into overdrive. The sensors in his Amygdala flashed red, sending fear and chills down to his spine. The only thought his body could comprehend was, This is dangerous! But the moment passed, as all moments do.

And that’s when he felt it: ecstasy. Everything and nothing. It was sheer adrenaline: the rush of the wind in his hair, the slick wood beneath his fingers gently vibrating as he soared toward the sky. This was what he needed, this feeling, this...bliss. He curved his broom slightly, the wind of his turn making the Gryffindor curtain draped over one of the towers ripple as he sped past. Charlie could barely explain it himself; it was just the intensity of the feeling. It was the sensation of defying nature…he’s been on a broom hundreds of thousands of times but his body never let the rush of it die. He always felt the drop in his stomach, his hair stand on end, his heart beat race…This was what flying was all about.

Whenever he was in the air, it was as if no matter what happened to him, he’d always be safe. With the smell of the grasses and the feeling of manipulation over his positioning on the earth, nothing could hurt him. Flying was surreal. But Quidditch was completely different…flying alone removed his thoughts, left him with peace. But playing the game was poles apart from solo flying. The sound of the cheering Gryffindors blending with the opposition’s jeers and cat calls were so clear it was like every cheer and boo was whispered right into his ear. Boosting his ego or cutting him down.

But then, when he flies high into the clouds and shoots back down, hovering over the pitch, eyes surveying his surroundings, it was as if all the sounds blend together to create a rushing in his ears. The sound of the waves ebbing and flowing, the rush of a waterfall, the blood flowing throughout his veins, the beat of his heart…it was as if the world just fell into place.

“Oi! Captain! You wanna get your head outta the clouds there?” Tara’s normally soft voice carried a sharpness that reached his ears and, with one more lap around the pitch, Charlie glided toward the ground, his cheeks covered in a hearty red glow of happiness.

He smiled at his fellow seventh year and long time teammate. The two had become friends after working and training together for so long. Not to mention, she was a killer asset to the team, at least when they acted like a team.

“You’re at practice early today,” Charlie said with a bit of a grin, “Wanna have a quick race around the pitch?”

Tara raised her eyebrows. “Um, you do realize that the practice starts in…” She checked her watch. “One minute?”

“One minute!” Charlie shouted looking slightly panicked. He took off toward the equipment room, the rest of the team watching him rush away. Five minutes later, he finally towed the chest toward the team muttering to himself. “Damn thing weighs a bloody ton!”

Pulling it a few more feet until he was directly in front of the team, he paused for second, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“Nice to see that you could make it to practice, Weasley,” Oliver said with mocking arrogance. “Five laps around the pitch is the usual punishment for lateness.”

Charlie stood up, tugging at his gloves with a slight pretentiousness as he turned to glare at Oliver, “Excuse me for getting some pre-game flying so that I’m ready for a top flying performance, Wood. Unlike some people, I want to be at the height of my game by the start of practice not forty-five minutes into it.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Well Weasley—”

“Can please just start practice?” Tara cut in quickly, severing the tension with her voice; a short paused followed. “Now?”

“Fine. Maybe next Weasley’ll start practice on time instead of wasting everyone’s time. It’s clear that he is exempt from the very rules that he harps on about to the rest of us.”

Tara shot Oliver a quick glare that stopped him from making any further comment, shook her head and after a few moments of silence asked, “Alicia would you mind helping me get the stuff out?”

Alicia shrugged her shoulder and went to help hold down the chest. The bludgers inside started to thrash around, making opening the chest without additional help a nearly impossible feat, even for the two girls.

Charlie took this chance of a momentary distraction from the annoyance known as Oliver Wood to have a heart-to-heart with his team. He had to remember to toughen up, no more pushover politeness.

“Okay, look everyone, this is the last match of the year, of my year. It may not be as important to you guys as it is to me, but I want to win this! Look, we don’t get along very well and that’s fine. We’ve spent all year together which I know you’ve all hated but let’s just try this time? No more messing around?” He stared pointedly at Angelina whose eyes widened and then severely narrowed at the implied reproach.

“But despite the laziness that we’ve suffered throughout the past games-” He turned and looked at Alicia but she was focusing on holding the chest while blocking out Charlie as best she could. She figured her chastising would come soon enough, as it always did.

“Along with the outright rudeness, the lack of attention, and the poor coordination-” Even though Charlie wasn’t saying this to anyone in particular, it was obvious that Oliver was the reason for that statement. “I want these plays to be ingrained, know the plays better than you know your own name!” Charlie continued to plead with his team as they drifted off into their own thoughts.

“George,” Fred whispered. “What if I can’t remember my name or the plays?”

“Charlie will probably skin you alive.”

“But if he doesn’t know my name, he won’t know who to attack.”

“Makes sense to me—”

“For Merlin’s sake, can you two just…listen? For once? Instead of talking to each other? This is a group discussion, you might want to pay attention. If you’re not going to listen to me, you can at least think about all the things you need help with. Control, case and point.”

The two boys scoffed and Fred rolled his eyes - the two heard this same complaint time and time again, to the point where it didn’t faze either of them any longer. “You see, this is what I’m talking about! Outright disrespect for my captaincy! You’re always doing this, just be quiet for once in your lives! You can play around on your own time! I’m trying to give you guys a pep talk for this practice!”

“That’s a pep talk?” Oliver scoffed.

Charlie’s hands curled into fist. “Why yes, Wood it was, unless for some god awful reason you once again think I’m doing something wrong.”

Oliver held up his hands in mock apology. “No, no Captain. Sounds like a perfect speech if you're trying to piss everyone listening off. I’m sure I could do better if I was given the chance…”

“Excuse me?” Charlie growled.

“Look Fred,” George muttered as the argument progressed. “You can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.”

“Well, no offense or anything, but hearing about how much you need this isn’t any way to inspire a team. We’re sorry that you aren’t pulling you’re weight exactly but…” Oliver trailed off. “You really could work on a few things yourself, especially in the whole ‘sticking to the plays’ category.”

“Look at that vein on his forehead, looks like it’s gonna explode any second.” They chuckled together. “Five galleons Charlie has an aneurysm before the end of practice,” whispered Fred.

“You’re one to talk,” snarled Oliver, “That idiocy you call keeping is actually just a sorry attempt to keep your arse on your broom!”

“It’s actually a tactic called The Sprint Stint but you wouldn’t know anything about that now would you, Weasley? Maybe if you try to teach more tactics and stop putting down the whole flipping team! I tried to show you plays, I tried to show you diagrams, to help you but what do you do? Push me aside, maybe one day you’ll see that you got a lot of talent here other than your own!”

“I didn’t look at those because I was busy not to mention, I don’t want you even think, no I don’t want you to try—” Charlie was so flustered that he broke off and snarled, “Don’t you dare tell me how to run my team, You are not the captain. I am.”

“I raise your five galleons to ten, plus a sickle that Charlie’s gonna punch him in the face,” George chuckled as Fred held out his hand to shake on the bet and Angelina jumped in with a whisper,

“Add me that bet, I’ve got five for Oliver kicking his arse.”

“Wouldn’t that be the day…” George trailed off wistfully.

“Damn it! CAN WE PLEASE,” Charlie shouted, his face now a bright cherry red, “Get back to practice! Merlin’s Beard, Alicia, you can’t even hold down a chest, what are you even here for?” He pushed her to the side. “Move, just…just grab your broom and get in the air, or do you need directions?”

Alicia gaped at him, “Charlie I was just trying to—”

“No. I don’t care. No more trying, just do what I said,” Charlie snapped. “Hear that you lot? Get in the air and do a lap. Forget the speech. You’ll all just do what you want anyway. If you want one go listen to Oliver since he’s the supposed only one who knows what the hell he’s even doing.”

“Charlie,” Tara said angrily. “Stop it. Stop…whatever it is your doing, alright? It’s not helping anything.”

“Whatever. Just get in the air and get to your spots. Yes Wood, I do mean for you to go to the goalpost and do what you’re on the team to do. Angelina, Alicia and Tara, would it be too hard of you to get up there and fly around the pitch and score some goals? Just to practice, Angelina and Tara you’re against Alicia. I want a mock match, people! Fred and George go and separate! Fred you’re on team with Angelina, George you’re after Alicia! Everyone know what to do? Get it, got it, go do it!”

“I…I can’t play this alone without anyone else on my side…” Alicia said in an attempt to get Charlie’s attention but he brushed her off.

“Can you quit your whining for one Merlin loving second? For Godric’s sake, Alicia could you be anymore obnoxious right now? Get in the air!”

Everyone grumbled and Angelina crossed her arms over her chest. The fierce look on her face gave away the fact that she had something to say, something that would most likely get her kicked off the team and possibly land her straight in detention for the next three weeks. Alicia’s face was flushed with anger and embarrassment after being humiliated in front of the entire team for the thousandth time. Oliver and the twins looked murderous and Tara…completely disappointed in the way that Charlie was acting: confusion was written all over her face.

But Charlie ignored all these looks and opened the chest himself, tossing the quaffle roughly toward Alicia. “Since you’re going to complain so much, you can have the ball first. Or is it to heavy? Too difficult to hold?” The bitter anger in his voice was noted as she mounted her broom and flew off. Tara and Angelina followed her shortly, the latter glaring viciously as she put her hair into a ponytail and rocketed off.

Bats in hand, the twins glanced at each other. Identical maniacal grins crossed their faces.

“I’ve got a bat, George.”

“As do I, Fred.”

“Do you think our dearest brother needs some sense knocked into him?”

“Why yes, yes I do.”

The two smirked at each other. Charlie’s back was turned so he’d never see it coming but Oliver held them back. “Your brother may be a complete git, but it’s not worth giving up this last match is it? Yes, he’s being completely unreasonable and we all hate him when he gets like this but I’m pretty sure what you’re thinking about doing is attempted murder. And as tempting as that is to give up, even with the thought going to Azkaban, won’t the two of you hate not playing?”

They lowered their bats slightly. “If Wood’s willing to protect Charlie…well then he must have good point,” George said quietly and Fred nodded.

“EARTH TO BROTHERS!” Charlie roared. “The Bludgers are out! Aren’t you going to defend your chasers?!”

The twins rolled their eyes and as they shot off Fred muttered, “Doesn’t mean that he doesn’t deserve a blow straight to the ba—“

“LESS TALK! MORE FLYING! AND SPLIT UP!” Charlie screamed from below.

George rolled his eyes, “He’s gonna kill himself from as this yelling.” He turned and yelled back, “High blood pressure runs the family!”

Back on the ground, Charlie glared at his brothers, wondering why they could never be serious about anything. “You know, Wood. You’ve let in four goals already. But maybe leaving your goals open was another ‘tactic’ of yours right? Maybe I should draw you picture of a losing game.”

Oliver shook his head. “Honestly, Weasley? This mock match was probably the most terrible practice idea you’ve ever had.” Without giving Charlie a chance to respond, he flew off toward the goalpost.

Finally, Charlie unlocked the snitch and grabbed it. The wings of the ball fluttered wildly in his hand. Before he could even partially begin to enjoy it, someone screamed out from overhead.

 

“Fred, would you stop for Merlin’s sake I’m on your side, stop hitting bludgers toward me!”

“I’m just trying to get your attention, Angelina!”

“Hit that bludger toward my head one more time Weasley and I’m taking that bat and knocking you into next week!”

Charlie cursed under his breath, throwing himself onto his broom and tossing the snitch into the air, ascending toward the chaos that was his Quidditch team.

“For Merlin's sake, people! Can we at least go through one minute of practice without killing each other!” Charlie shouted as he reached their height.

“Fred, stop that sorry excuse for flirting and aim for Alicia! Where is your head at? Why don’t you practice that control I was just yelling about instead of trying to decapitate my team! George, get in the game! Quit lazing about! This isn’t some freelance Quidditch match! What are you Chasers even doing up there?!”

“I’m trying to stop Fred from knocking my bloody head off!” Angelina growled.

“Well maybe if you worked on your speed maneuvering that wouldn’t be a problem! Stop flying around like your some princess and quit being so prissy! Even though you’re a girl that doesn’t mean that you can’t get your hands dirty does it? Alicia, for the love of Merlin, would you at least attempt to play the game?” Charlie snapped, “Now let’s get one thing straight. We’re not leaving this pitch until these plays are memorized!”

“I’m dying of boredom over here,” Oliver complained. “Not to mention this game is completely one sided since Alicia has no one defending her goalpost, no one helping her with chasing and no one to compete to get the snitch with you. What kind of plan was this anyway?”

“Damn it Wood! If you got such a problem with it, you’re defending both goals now!”

“What?” Oliver asked, surprised, “That’s totally ridiculous, Weasley! And you know it! We need to be running drills! Speed drills, practicing dodging, running laps, building up some strength, not this stupid mock match!”

A few members of the team nodded and murmured along with him. Alicia spoke up next, “Oliver’s right, I know we all need help with things, but I for one really need work on the dodging.” She rolled back her sleeves and exposed a dark black bruise on her upper arm. “I wish I’d gotten more time to practice dodging for the last game, those bludgers are no joke.”

Angelina gave her opinion next. “See Charlie, we do need to do more things like Oliver says. More time to work on technique rather than…well, this.”

“They’re right, mate,” Fred joined in. “Like Oliver said, we’re wasting time doing this. Yes, we’re all good players, that’s obvious, that’s why we got on the team…but, well…there’s no formula for the perfect match. And practice like this isn’t the right way.”

Charlie’s face looked like it would explode. His voice was low and menacing as he tried to keep his voice level. “Apparently, all you care about is what Oliver says. Oliver says this. Oliver says that. Well, Oliver is about to be kicked off the bloody team for mutiny!”

“Charlie!” Tara spoke across him forcefully but he glared viciously at her as he continued, brushing aside her outburst. His voice grew louder with each syllable until he was positively screaming.

“Oliver thinks, Oliver says, Oliver does whatever the hell he wants but you know want? No more. MY TEAM. MY RULES! Alicia, shut up and fly around the damn pitch and score some goals! You want drills? Score sixty goals in a row, miss one and the count restarts!”

“Charlie I can’t—”

“DO IT!” He roared. “Maybe if you weren’t such a burden on the team you wouldn’t have gotten smacked around by that bludger!”

“C-Charlie I—“ Alicia’s voice broke and wavered.

“No more excuses! I SAID GO!”

Ball in hand, Alicia sped off as she flew around the pitch. The whole team could hear the sounds of her crying.

“He’s going bloody insane,” Fred said to George. “This whole feud between him and Oliver’s gonna put him straight into St. Mungo’s crazy ward.”

“Get out of my face, you two…just get out!”

Alicia was flying around with tears pouring down her face, trying her hardest to make the goals that Charlie demanded; Oliver was obviously letting in every shot. His expression was pained, as if he wanted to show his skills but was being held back. His look, his…everything made Charlie irate.

Fred and George flew off smacking bludgers in no particular direction. Charlie then rounded on Angelina but she flew past him. “Don’t even mess with me today, Weasley,” she snarled, “Making Alicia cry like that? Are you serious? What the hell is wrong with you? Everyone’s else is right and I don’t care what McGonagall says, you don’t deserve to coach this team.”

After her remark, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head, flying off to talk to Oliver. They whispered to each other, shooting glares every few seconds in Charlie’s direction. He turned back toward what was left of his team, picking out his next person to scream at.

Only Tara hovered on her broom before him. Charlie opened his mouth but Tara cut him off. “Don’t bother yelling at me, Charlie. You know I won’t listen to it. You’re treating everyone horribly and you know it. If this is how you want the last practice to go then so be it. Do you even care that you made Alicia cry? Do you know how hard all of us work? Angelina and Alicia may be girls, but I’m one too. There’s no need to treat them like crap for no reason. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but this is a bad idea and you must know that.”

Tara flew off to go comfort Alicia, and that joyous feeling that Charlie had at the start of practice was crushed and trampled by a horde of angry Hippogriff’s with Oliver’s face on them.

The practice stretched on and with each passing hour Charlie felt himself die a little bit inside. Every ordered was screamed, every attitude-filled remark was punished. He hated what he was doing but Oliver was just so flipping smug. McGonagall wanted him to toughen up and stop being so polite? Well fine, he’d whip this team into shape if it killed him.

Four hours, two bloody noses, a twisted ankle, a busted lip, a chunk of hair missing from Charlie’s head and fifteen galleons won later, three things were obvious. Fred throws a mean right hook; Oliver isn’t as small as he seems to be, given the fact that he pulled Fred from atop during one of the more heated arguments of the practice, and lastly, George is his new favorite brother. He saved him from getting a bludger smacked right where it would most hurt.

As the team put up their equipment grudgingly, Oliver pulled everyone except Charlie to the side. “I know that this was a horrible practice. But we’re all good players; Alicia that dodge roll you pulled to dodge Fred tossing his bat at Charlie was fantastic! I do believe that I even saw you shove Charlie aside to get to the quaffle, very aggressive and exactly what was needed!” Alicia, whose eyes were still bloodshot from crying throughout most of the practice, smiled appreciatively.

Oliver turned to Angelina and Tara next. “You guys work really well together, no matter what you always managed to get the quaffle to each other. It’s that kind of teamwork that we need to continue with!”

“And you two,” Oliver said to the twins. “Bloody incredible double team against Charlie, if I didn’t know any better I swear one of you were out to kill him.”

Fred coughed. “Right, about that…”

Oliver held up his hand. “Regardless, it was controlled, the direction of the bludger didn’t waver, you were aiming directly for Charlie each time. Try that again tomorrow, against the opposite team of course, and we’ll be great.”

The two girls smiled at each other weakly.

“Needless to say, I’m pretty sure the horribleness of this practice stays between all of us?” They all nodded.

“Last thing we need is confirmation on how bad we suck.” Angelina muttered.

“Don’t say that, we just have to believe in ourselves…we’re a great team. We just gotta believe it. And…well, Charlie may not think so, but I gotta say, we’ve got a lot of potential.”

During Oliver’s pep talk, Charlie silently seethed inside the changing rooms.


	3. Shouting Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie was almost startled off his broom and snapped his head round quickly to try and figure out the source of the noise. All was explained when he saw an agitated Wood somehow bouncing up and down on his broom in mid-air.
> 
> "Crissonchaa… Flipping sni… ‘urry!"
> 
> ‘What?’ Charlie shouted back, straining to hear Oliver over the roar of the crowd.
> 
> "CRIMSONCHIN HAS SEEN THE FLIPPING SNITCH, YOU ABSOLUTE SODDING IDIOT! HURRY UP AND GO AFTER HER. GO! THAT WAY!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This story is submission to the Golden Snitches' Quidditch World Cup. It was written by the Wimbourne Wasps._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Author - Eridanus_  
>  Editor - LovlyRita  
> Beta - Beyond_the_Veil  
> Chapter Title - KaraBlack

The halls of Hogwarts were unusually quiet the morning of the quidditch final, as Charlie Weasley clambered sleepily through the portrait hole. The fat lady was still fast asleep in her portrait, and as Charlie made his way to the staircase he could still hear the loud echoes of snores as they erupted from her nose. The sound was not a comforting one and, in an attempt to escape the thunderous noises before they shattered his nerves entirely, he sprinted down the stairs at a pace he usually reserved for training sessions.

Once he made it down to the first landing, the obnoxious grunting had depreciated enough for Charlie to slow down. His feet were on autopilot as they led him down the stairs, but his mind was working at top speed.

Today was the day of reckoning and Charlie reckoned that it would be a miracle if his team managed to pull their socks up in a day. Yesterday’s practice had been more of a disaster than usual and Wood’s little speech at the end had only confirmed what a useless captain he had become. Quidditch had always been Charlie's greatest joy, but he had managed to sap the enthusiasm out of his whole team and blunt his own enjoyment of the game in less than a year.

It must’ve been some sort of record.

There still wasn’t a soul to be seen about the castle, but Charlie had become quite accustomed to this morning ritual before matches. He trudged across the Entrance Hall to the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing behind him. Straightening himself upon entering the room, he raised his chin slightly and masked any nervousness with a look of determination.

The house tables were nearly abandoned. There was a lone Hufflepuff perched at the end of her table, two Ravenclaws sitting far enough apart to establish them as strangers, an empty Slytherin table, and six figures huddled together, deep in conversation, toward the back of the hall at the Gryffindor table--his quidditch team.

Charlie walked over to the table, ashamed at the sorry state of affairs he had managed to get them into. On a match day, the playing teams usually made a grand entrance, arriving just late enough to breakfast to be greeted by a sea of smiling faces and applause. The Gryffindor team had experienced this only once; any subsequent match days were rife with raucous booing from their own house. This served as intense inspiration to rise early in the morning for breakfast and avoid any more embarrassing spectacles.

Charlie had no desire to sit in on a meeting he wasn't invited to, so he took a seat on the opposite side of the room. Fred and George glanced over at him with identical disappointment, but Charlie stayed in his chair, enjoying the peace of solidarity. He made himself a couple of bacon sandwiches and began to chew sullenly as bits of the team’s conversation floated to his ears.

"…thinks he’s so much better than us!" Angelina said loudly as Alicia tried to shush her.

The volume of their conversation decreased after that, and Charlie managed to fill his glass with pumpkin juice and finish his first sandwich without interruption. Within minutes, their words steadily crescendoed to the point where Charlie could once again hear.

"…alright seeker… rubbish captain,’"Oliver proclaimed.

It was a well-known fact that Oliver hoped to win the title of Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and it stung Charlie to think that the team would probably succeed under his tutelage.

Just as Charlie was about to leave the hall there was a shuffling sound over at the Ravenclaw table as one of the students rose from their chair and skittered eagerly over to the staff table. It was only then that Charlie realised that Professors McGonagall and Quirrell where already there supervising.

Professor McGonagall had summoned the girl for some unknown reason, but Charlie, who had already had enough of his team to last him a lifetime, had neither the inclination nor the patience to stay and see what it was about. Fortunately, the answer came to him just as he was about to march out the door.

"Charlie Weasley?"

"Yes, that’s me."

"Professor McGonagall says that she wants to see you in her office and that she’ll be along directly."

"Right, thanks."

The little girl flitted off back to her chair as he glanced over at McGonagall to see if he could possibly sense her mood. She was talking to Quirrell and her face was well hidden, but Charlie assumed the meeting was an attempt to boost his confidence for the match.

Professor McGonagall’s office was on the second floor and not too far out of his way, so it didn’t take him very long to reach the solid oak door that represented her domain.

Leaning against the cold wall, he waited impatiently, hoping for a swift end to their impending meeting. The sooner this ordeal was over, the better. The mere thought of the upcoming match was humiliating, and talking about the team and their failings twice in three days was more than enough to tip him over the edge.

Immersed in the dark thoughts of all the horrible things that could possibly go wrong, Charlie was pulled quickly from his trance by the sharp tap of footsteps on the stone floor.

"I hope I did not keep you long, Mr. Weasley?"

"Not at all, Professor."

Minerva McGonagall walked into her office with Charlie trailing in her wake. Unlike their previous meeting, Professor McGonagall took a seat behind her desk. This move immediately made her fractionally less intimidating.

We’ve got quite a bit to discuss this morning, so it’s best that you make yourself comfortable," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.

"Professor, if it’s about the match, I’ve talked to the team and I’ve done the very best tha-"

"That’s good to hear, Weasley, but I actually called you here to discuss another matter entirely. Do you have a career in mind?"  
Charlie was startled by the interruption and his cheeks bloomed red as he was rendered speechless. He hadn’t really spent a lot of time considering his future, but Quidditch had always seemed like his best option.

"Well… I-I was thinking about playing professional Quidditch." The confession seemed so much more juvenile when he said it aloud.

"That certainly seems rational considering your expertise. Have you thought about any other careers?" She peered at him over the top of her spectacles and he visibly shrunk under her penetrating gaze.

"I’m not really sure what else I could choose. I know that I don’t want to work at the ministry or a job where I would be spending days on end inside."

"In that case, I may have an alternative option for you to consider."

"You do?" Charlie's voice choked with surprise. Surely Professor McGonagall had more important things to attend to besides sitting around, contemplating his future?

"I was recently contacted by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They informed me of a unique career opportunity that has recently been vacated." Her facial expression was calm as ever, but Charlie was certain there was a slight note of excitement in her voice. "I have taken the liberty of recommending you for the position."

"I really appreciate this, Professor, but I honestly don’t think working at a desk is for me."

"That shouldn't be a problem, Mr. Weasley. The job is an apprenticeship with one of the world’s foremost dragon experts, and once your training is completed you will work with the creatures yourself." Professor McGonagall adjusted her spectacles as her countenance grew serious. "There is, I must add, a condition. This position is in Romania, and if you are accepted, you are likely to work there for the rest of your career."

Charlie’s mind was racing. Professor McGonagall had recommended him for a job he could only dream of, but why? And it was in Romania - his mum wouldn’t be too happy with that. What about Quidditch? He’d worked so hard for so long to try and break into professional Quidditch... He managed to recover from the shock just enough to utter two words.

"Why me?"

"It is not a secret that you have a great aptitude for Care of Magical Creatures. I believe that you also have the right attitude and the ambition for this sort of career."

"I-I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what to do with this information."

"Consider it carefully, Mr. Weasley, “McGonagall said sternly, and then he though he saw her eyes soften a little. “I believe that is all we needed to discuss; you are excused."

"Thank you very much, Professor," Charlie said as he rose from the chair.

"You’re quite welcome," she said, nodding in acknowledgement.

Charlie walked towards the door and what could be the final Quidditch match of his career. His focused, intense thoughts about the match had been completely obliterated by the information Professor McGonagall had divulged, and he was hardly capable of putting one foot in front of the other, much less, he thought, executing the fine, controlled movements that came with playing Quidditch.

"And, Charlie," Professor McGonagall called, and Charlie turned back at the door. "Good luck with the match."

Charlie sat wordlessly in the changing rooms, the thunderous racket of the crowd outside assaulting his ears with unwelcome ferocity. There were less than five minutes until the match kicked off, and the team had settled into a silence brimming with anticipation as their peers shouted excitedly mere feet away.

Charlie surveyed the room discreetly and the scene before him was anything but favourable. Could they be a winning team even if they didn’t look like one? Weren’t losing teams supposed to be more united than this? Oliver stood at the exit, clasping his broom with determination and exuding the sort of air one may expect from a captain. Alicia and Angelina sat on the floor with their legs sprawled out in front of them, their facial expression equally cryptic. Tara was about as nervous as Charlie and paced the room in a state of dazed confusion as Fred and George threw a small ball between them. They had the look of a team totally lacking in motivation or confidence.

And, Charlie realised as he glanced at his watch, it was now time for them to take the field.

He stood up and cleared his throat, “Well, this is our last match as a team, my last match as your captain, and to be honest, I think we’re all pretty relieved,” he said with a wry smile. “Let’s just get out there, play the game the best we can and try and win it. For a change.”

At that moment something came flying at Charlie’s head, and he had to duck it rather abruptly. A Seeker’s reflexes were good for something.

“Charlie, mate, you were doing fine until that last bit,” Fred said, his hand suspiciously free of the ball he had caught seconds earlier.

“Yeah, I almost felt a bit of affection for you there,” George said as he picked up his broom and stood behind Oliver.

“Merlin forbid!” Angelina exclaimed as she took up position in the line beside Fred, who had joined his brother.

After quickly retrieving his broom from his locker, Charlie turned around to face his team. Tara and Alicia had joined the line of their own accord, and suddenly the lacklustre assortment of people who had stood before him previously seemed to have formed a team.

“Alright there, Captain?” Tara asked as Charlie shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I mean, yes, I’m fine.”

Charlie strode with newfound determination to the top of the line, taking up position in front of Oliver, and led the team out to the mouth of the changing room tunnel where it opened out onto the pitch. They arrived just as the commentator finished announcing the entrance of the Hufflepuff quidditch team, and Charlie gazed critically at their flying techniques as they completed their lap of the pitch and landed on one side of Madam Hooch. They were completely in sync, but there was something stiff about their landing and the way a few of them almost stumbled in their attempt to stand regimentally straight upon touching the ground.

There wasn’t much of a break before Charlie heard his name being called out across the stadium. He turned and grinned at his team encouragingly, the familiar adrenaline rush starting to pump through his veins, before mounting his broom and taking to the sky.

Charlie’s appearance drew a mixed reaction from the crowd and catcalls mingled with cheers as he began his lap, performing imitations of the Wronski Feint as he went. He was well aware that Oliver would go for his signature Double Eight Loop once they came close to the goalposts, so he wanted to put on a bit of a show before then. Charlie was barely aware of the names of the other players in his team being called, only hearing the faint echo of the commentary as it echoed through the stadium.

He made a sharp, smooth turn around the last corner of the pitch and shot back down towards the huge expanse of grass below him, pulling up on the opposite side of Madam Hooch from the Hufflepuffs and hopping lithely off his broom. Moments later the rest of the team fell in line beside him in succession. Maybe they weren’t quite as strict as the Hufflepuffs, but they had a certain style.

“Alright, teams!” Madam Hooch called in her raspy voice, “We’re all here to have a good, clean match. _any_ fouls will be penalised and do not expect any soft treatment from me. Any behaviour that is deemed to be reckless or potentially harmful to another player will result in you being sent off immediately.” The volume of Madam Hooch’s voice gradually increased as her speech progressed, in an attempt to make sure the fourteen students before her were listening to her, rather than the jeering crowd. “Have I made myself clear”

The group of students before her mumbled their assent. To tell the truth, they all admired Madam Hooch’s ability to be as terrifying as possible when necessary; she could even scare a Slytherin out of cheating when she was like this.

‘Captains, shake hands,’ she said, her head flicking rapidly between Charlie and the brunette at the head of the Hufflepuff team, as if one of them was going to refuse.

Charlie stepped forward easily, his right hand extended towards the friendly looking girl. He knew that she was a chaser, but he assured himself of the fact that her lean build and the prominent muscles in her arms would have told him so anyway, had he not known. The girl met Charlie half way and clasped his hand warmly. It was a pleasant change not to have someone attempt to shatter all of the bones in your hand before a match started, and Charlie found himself wondering why there weren’t more female quidditch captains.

Madam Hooch released the snitch at the two parted and hands and then took on a dominant stance beside the chest, hands on hips, brow furrowed.

“The snitch has been released. All players mount your brooms.”

The teams mounted swiftly and hovered a few feet above the ground. Charlie’s fingers twitched anxiously as he gripped his broom and waited for the queue to take off. The movement from down on the pitch sent the stands into a flurry of excitement, resulting in dying chants being renewed with vigour.

“The bludgers and quaffle are now airborne. Spread out. Right up into the air, take your positions.”

And then the whistle blew, high pitched and steady in one sharp blast, causing the players to react at lightning speed to locate the piece of equipment they desired. Tara raced the captain of the other team for the quaffle, Fred and George immediately made contact with both bludgers, sending them wildly towards members of the opposition and Charlie raised himself above the fray, in order to search for the snitch.

He made a few loops of the pitch at a speed that allowed him to both observe the game going on below him and focus on finding the snitch. It was already obvious that this match was going to be extremely tight. The other team captain, who he now knew was called Crimsonchin, had managed to snag the quaffle first and she sped down the length of the pitch with unparalleled ferocity, challenged by no one. She easily ducked a weak bludgers from Fred, but, although her aim was spot on, she was no match for Oliver’s keeping skills. He watched her as she aimed for the left goal post and then dove straight for the one on the right, calling her out on an attempted ruse.

He flew out slightly and propelled the ball straight into the hands of a waiting Angelina, she wove her way as far up the pitch as she could, before coming face to face with a beater preparing to swing a bludger her way. She then dropped the ball to a waiting Tara, who had been flying below her, and continued on their progress up the pitch. An opposing chaser started flying straight towards her in an attempt to intimidate her, but she only willed her broom faster. As soon as she came within shooting range of the goal posts the keeper focused all of his attention on her, but she threw the ball straight to Alicia who made a throw at an open goalpost.

‘And the scoring has opened, thanks to Spinnet! Ten points to Gryffindor!’ the commentator roared.

This small victory provided Charlie with a bit of hope; if they could win the battle it was only a matter of time before they won the war. He could now afford to devote his time to the not-so-small matter of finding the snitch.

He flew lower, staying close to the stands to avoid disrupting the action of the game, and tried to spot the glimmer of gold that he so badly wanted to see. He scanned the seats in case it had managed to get lost among the spectators, but one of the guests at the match surprised him. He had completely forgotten that the talent scout for the Chudley Cannons was going to be here today, and he could have sworn that the Head of the Player Management Division at the Holyhead Harpies was sitting right beside him; Tara would be thrilled.

The realisation that he should be just as happy with this occurrence as Tara didn’t hit him until moments later, when he had already resumed his search for the snitch. His scanning of the ground was proving itself fruitless, so Charlie sped back to the familiarity of the top of the pitch. He was distracted briefly by a bludger that missed him by a good few inches, thanks to a well timed Sloth Grip Roll, but other than that managed to reclaim his earlier position with relative ease.

He was just scanning to see where the Hufflepuff seeker, Wortbobble, was when he was startled by a loud voice booming around the stadium.

"And Williams shoots and… She SCORES! The Gryffindors are storming to an early lead! That makes the score fifty to ten."

Charlie was rather puzzled as to when all of this had happened, but the game of quidditch usually did not allow one the luxury of stray thoughts, and he was soon on the lookout for Wortbobble again. It didn’t take long before Charlie spotted her flying a great distance above her team’s goal in a position he assumed was for observing.

"This is unbelievable! Spinnet passes to Johnson, Johnson to Williams, Williams to Johnson and Johnson aims for another ten points. And Pinkstone misses it by a centimetre! Gryffindor, sixty points, Hufflepuff, ten."

Charlie continued flying slightly aimlessly round the pitch, watching the game below him. His chasers were managing to do some amazing flying, Fred and George were sending as many barely legal bludgers flying as they could, and Oliver was saving an amazing amount of goals. It was brilliant to see them playing so well together, but for some reason Charlie found that he was less hyped up by this game than usual.

The match seemed to be flying past him in a blur, and he barely managed to keep up with the score. His flying was leisurely, despite the fact that there was a talent scout for his favourite team in the stands, and the usual adrenaline that accompanied a match had worn off ten times earlier than it had previously.

"MATE, GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE CLOUDS!"

Charlie was almost startled off his broom and snapped his head round quickly to try and figure out the source of the noise. All was explained when he saw an agitated Wood somehow bouncing up and down on his broom in mid-air.

"Crissonchaa… Flipping sni… ‘urry!"

‘What?’ Charlie shouted back, straining to hear Oliver over the roar of the crowd.

"CRIMSONCHIN HAS SEEN THE FLIPPING SNITCH, YOU ABSOLUTE SODDING IDIOT! HURRY UP AND GO AFTER HER. GO! THAT WAY!"

Oliver pointed hurriedly in the opposite direction, and sure enough, there was a lone figure speeding off, hurdling up over the stands packed with people. The commentator hadn’t failed to notice what looked like a team spat and didn’t fail to commentate on it either, even though he had managed to entirely miss Crimsonchin’s pursuit of the snitch.

"Ooooh, it appears that the Gryffindor team are having some inner team struggles! Weasley, Charlie Weasley that is, is speeding off at top speed after having a bit of a barney with Wood. Is it a struggle for dominance we see before us?"

Charlie ignored the ignorant remarks from the commentator and zoomed straight past the astounded students watching the match and the shocked players on the pitch. The Hufflepuff seeker was already far out of sight range, but he was going to catch up with her no matter what. He heard the tail end of the commentary as the awful excuse for a commentator seemed to pick up on what was actually going on, but the sonorous charm wasn’t loud enough to be heard once outside the safety of the pitch and its stands.

Charlie span around frantically on his broom. Crimsonchin was nowhere is sight. He had to make a snap decision or he had absolutely no chance at winning this. All of the drive, all of the ambition, had come coursing back through his veins in one quick instant. He turned left around the outside of the blocks of seats, swerving around an insane owl that had come too close to the pitch, and then he spotted her.

She had begun to ascend even higher in an attempt to catch the snitch, which was fluttering further and further towards the clouds far above them, in a pattern of furious loops and twists. Charlie tried to spur his broom on and persuade it to go even faster than it already was. His eyes watered with both the effect of the wind and the thought of losing the cup when he was this close, and his cheeks were being dragged backwards, seemingly moving a few seconds behind the rest of his body.

His eyes left the snitch briefly and flickered towards the outstretched hand of the sturdy blonde who was also pursuing it. She was close, but not close enough and he was only a couple of metres behind her now. He could do it. He would do it. He deserved it after all this time and she wasn’t brave enough to take any serious risk to capture the snitch before he was right beside her.

And then, unexpectedly, she jumped. The next thing Charlie knew she had one hand gripped around her broom and the other clenched in a softly vibrating fist. He was shocked to a halt and feebly watched the tiny frantically beating wings poking out of her fist as the girl attempted to haul herself onto her broom.

"Sorry, can I have a little bit of help, please?"She asked in a strained voice

"Oh, Merlin! Yes, of course!"

Charlie swooped to the girl’s side, gripped her under the arms and lifted her back onto her broom.

"Good game," she said, smiling giddily and extending her free hand for Charlie to shake.

"Yeah, same to you," he responded, taking her hand in his and completing the handshake.

As the two companions flew back to the pitch in silence, one was ready to burst with glee, but the other was merely nostalgic. Gryffindor hadn’t won the cup this year, but Charlie had leared some important lessons, mainly that he wasn’t cut out for a life as a professional quidditch player. Although he didn’t mind at all, really.... being a dragon handler sounded far more appealing. It had just taken him a little while and a bit of common sense to realise it.


	4. Epilogue

Charlie Weasley passed his apprenticeship with flying colours, his mentor claiming that he hadn’t seen a wizard with the ability to build such a wonderful rapport with dragons in his entire experience as a dragon handler. Charlie later became renowned as the Wizarding World’s foremost dragon expert.

Tara Williams was offered a place on the Holyhead Harpies reserve team on the basis of her performance during the match and those previous to it. In less than a year she progressed from the reserve team to become a fully fledged member of the Harpies. Gwenog Jones referred to her as a natural talent and a wonderful asset to the team.

Oliver Wood became captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team the next year and led the team to numerous victories. He was affectionately known by every player who had the luck to be captained by him as a slave driver and slightly insane, however they all recognised his genius and were not at all surprised when he was signed by Puddlemere United immediately after he left Hogwarts.

Fred and George Weasley left Hogwarts before the end of their seventh year, in a show of defiance against the detestable Dolores Umbridge, that was talked of for years with much admiration from teachers and students alike. They opened a successful joke shop, but both suffered immeasurably in the Battle of Hogwarts; Fred lost his life and George lost his other half.

Angelina Johnson enjoyed a brief spell as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, although the stress of it convinced her, much like Charlie, that she was not cut out for life as a quidditch star. Her time as captain greatly increased her affection for her first captain and helped her to understand his temporary lunacy. She became an investigative journalist for The Daily Prophet and later married George Weasley, both of whom felt Fred’s loss greatly.

Alicia Spinnet was happy to let Angelina take over the reigns as captain in their seventh year at Hogwarts, as she always played quidditch for the fun rather than the possibility of making a career for herself. Inspired, but also slightly worried by the unstable traits that all of her previously sane ex-quidditch captains seemed to exhibit when they took up the role, she instead became a psychiatrist, specialising in quidditch-related problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wimbourne Wasp Captain Note:  
> I would like to say a huge thank you to every single member of the team who participated in this story! It was hard work, but when you see the end product I think you'll all agree that it was worth it. Also, a major thank you to GubraithianFire who helped us immensely and provided us with mounds of help before she had to leave.


End file.
